Vasíli Vasílevich Kapníst. (1757-1824.)
Kapníst, the son of a brigadier, entered the army as a corporal in 1771, and was made a commissioned officer in 1775, but he soon retired to his native village of Obúkhovka in the Government of Kíev, which he later described in the manner of Horace. He was elected a Representative of the Nobility of his district, later (upon his return to St. Petersburg), became a member of the Academy, and rose to many other honours. He early distinguished himself by translations and imitations of Horace, in which he devoted a closer attention to perfect form than any of his contemporaries, so that, but for a somewhat antiquated language, he is read with pleasure even at the present time. His chief reputation with his contemporaries was earned by the comedy The Pettifoggery, which had a phenomenal success, and was only superseded by Griboyédov’s Intelligence Comes to Grief and Gógol’s The Revizór. Like all the great comedies of Russia, The Pettifoggery deals with the negative sides of social life, and lays bare the corruption of officialdom. The plot of the play is as follows: Pettifog devises a plan by which he is to get hold of the property of Squareman. The latter is named in his certificate of birth Theodotos; his father left his estate to this Theodotos, but he naming himself Deodatus (Bogdán), Pettifog argues before the judges that Deodatus is another unlawful holder of that estate, and that it ought to revert to himself, as a distant relative of the deceased man. To make his case sure he bribes the judges, Gurgle, Snare, Gladly and Wordy, and the Procurator Grab and Secretary Talon, and sues for the hand of Sophia, the daughter of the Presiding Judge Casetwister. All, however, ends well, for Pettifog is denounced to the Senate and put in gaol, and the judges are turned over to the criminal court, while Squareman marries Sophia, his old sweetheart. The verses at the end of Act III., Scene 6, “Take, you’ll learn the art with ease,” went like wild-fire through all Russia, and became the byword for the large host of bribers.
Sir John Bowring has translated his On Julia’s Death, also reprinted in F. R. Grahame’s The Progress of Science, Art and Literature in Russia.
FROM “THE PETTIFOGGERY”
ACT III., SCENE 6. FÉKLA, SOPHIA, ANNA, CASETWISTER, PETTIFOG, GURGLE, SNARE, GLADLY, WORDY, GRAB, TALON AND SLY (tipsy, playing cards)
Talon. They have picked me clean.
Gurgle. Well! We are not picking your own feathers.
Pettifog. My dear friend, always grab the jack-pot!
Talon. A well-born man grabs all in splendid style.
Wordy (to Pettifog). Your intimate has been flaying us.
Pettifog. That’s proper. (To Sly.) You had better rise. (To Casetwister.) Will you not let him mix a punch for us? He is a great hand at it.
Casetwister. Very well.
Gurgle. That’s right, for the young beauty has been watering us as from a trough....
Sly (walking up to Anna). There is some brandy in the basket.
Fékla. His goose is cooked.
Pettifog. That’s so.
Casetwister. Whose?
Pettifog. Mine.
Gurgle. That accursed Theodotos has done it all.
Gladly (to Grab, who has been looking into his cards). Leave my ca-ca-ca——
Grab (putting his hand on his mouth). Stop your cawing.
Wordy. Say, Sly, stop courting her.
Casetwister. Anna, why have you run away from us? You had better serve us the new punch; we will be obliged to you.
Fékla (to Anna). Hurry up.
(Anna serves to the guests punch and wine, while Fékla gives her privately some signs: the guests are getting drunk.)
Snare. Oh, oh, we are getting there!
Pettifog. Eh?
Wordy (pointing to Sly). Ask him.
Sly. Sir, the trouble is, it’s all gone.
Pettifog. Keep it up; here is the wherewithal (throws a purse to him).
Gurgle. The trouble is all with Theodotos.
Pettifog. It is easy for you to have your fun with Theodotos; but it’s I who am having the trouble with him.
Casetwister. What of it? If it is true that through conspiracy Deodatus has gotten away with Theodotos’s property, there is a law for such a case.
Talon. I have already given the order to find the laws that cover the case.
Casetwister. I suppose there are some statutes?
Talon. Lots of them, sir.
Wordy. And also some decrees?
Talon. There are.
Gurgle. And, of course, there must be a special ukase.
Talon. There are several.
Grab. But clearest of all it is in the Institutes; you will find it in the chapter where ... about it——
Snare. Rather dark.
Wordy. It’s an ace and a jack.
Casetwister. And then we may apply the law of false pretences?
Talon. Of course, we may, sir! It fits the case.
Gurgle. And we bring the Reglement in accord with the Institutes....
Talon. Then all will agree with the above-mentioned ukase.
Gurgle. That’s it. You see, you can easily pass sentence.
Casetwister. Theodotos is out of the question. Deodatus is certainly a villain; so we will take Theodotos’s property and give it where it belongs. That’s my opinion.
Gurgle. Mine too.
Snare. And mine.
Wordy. And mine.
Gladly. A-a-and mine.
Grab. I agree with that unanimous opinion.
Pettifog. Thank you all.
Casetwister. ’Tis not hard to pick the laws.
Anna (aside, as she picks up the cards on the ground). And I will pick the cards.
Casetwister. Where is the punch?
Fékla. Anna! Be quick about it, and serve them often all around, and ask their favour.
Gurgle. Oh, we will soon ask hers.
Casetwister. Let’s have a song.
Wordy. Let’s throw away the cards: the queen has forsaken me.
Snare. You deal with a heavy hand.
Casetwister (to Grab). Dear Procurator! You have a good voice: give us a song!
Grab. Most gladly, but I have no voice.
Casetwister. The best way you can.
Gurgle. We will sing the refrain.
Grab (sings).
Take, you’ll learn the art with ease!
Take whatever you can seize!
God for this your hands did make,
That you may take!
(All repeat: Take, take, take!)
(Sophia shuts her ears and goes away.)
ACT IV., SCENE 6. CASETWISTER, FÉKLA AND TALON
Casetwister (to Talon). But hear, my dear. The rumour must be false that some meddler has denounced us to the Senate for taking bribes and for deciding wrongly cases at law.
Talon. I declare! What bad luck is that?
Casetwister. I could not find out all. But you, my friend, tell me in truth what case it was we decided so wrongly that we did not cover our tracks? I can’t think of any.
Talon (scratching his spine). Even if I were to go to confession, I could not think of any.
Fékla. But that’s impossible.
Casetwister. I beg you, wife, leave us alone! We know affairs better than you.
Fékla. Indeed, I know as well as you. Is it not my business to receive things and look after them? But may the wrath of the Lord strike me on the spot, if my right hand knows what my left hand takes.
Casetwister (to Talon). Say: it just occurs to me that there was quite a disturbance about the note whose endorsement I ordered to have scratched.
Talon. O sir, there is no cause for your worry there. I myself did the scratching. The defendant suspected the plaintiff of changing the endorsement. You decided the case properly according to the laws, and ordered the note to be destroyed.
Fékla (to Casetwister). Well, you have done no more wrong there than I.
Talon. Besides, you did not scratch the note, but only clean paper.
Fékla. Then where is your guilt? What sin is there in scratching mere paper? None at all.
Casetwister. So much the better.
Talon. There is something else that occurs to me. Do you remember the lawsuit for Simple’s estate? Pettifog, who had really nothing to do with the case and had forgotten the name of Simple in the lawsuit, contrived cunningly to sue Trickster, who had also not the slightest right to the estate. We did not bother about finding out whose the village in question was, and without further investigation, in the absence of Simple, disposed of the lawsuit by adjudging another’s property to the contending parties, which they proceeded at once to divide among themselves. I can’t imagine what Simple is going to say about it.
Casetwister. Let him say whatever he pleases, since he has paid so little attention to it. Why should we worry about him now? We are the judges. ’Tis our duty to know only that which is presented for our consideration on paper. What right have we to know that the estate under contention does not belong to the contending parties, but to someone else? We should have to have some written proof of that; in absence of the same, we simply must decide a lawsuit between two parties strictly according to the laws. We cannot help it if both were contending for something that did not belong to them.
OBÚKHOVKA
At peace with my neighbours and relatives, at peace with my conscience, in love with my beloved family, I here with my joys alone measure the stream of quiet days.
My cosey house with straw-thatched roof is all I want, neither too low, nor too high; there is a nook in it for friendship, and indolence has forgot to put a lock on the door, to notabilities unknown.
By a mount from the north protected, it stands upon a grassy hill, and looks into groves and distant meadows, while Psel, winding like a serpent, babbles as it tends towards the mills.
Nearby, the favourite child of nature, a vast shadowy forest, surrounds it on all sides with its thick tree-tops, without encroachment on the free expanse.
Before it, and on a small eminence, art, to please our eyes, having given a gentle slope to abrupt mounds, has on a modest elevation raised a modest temple to moderation.
Moderation, O heavenly friend, be ever my companion! You lead men to happiness; but your altar, not known to all, is hidden from the boastful rich.
You have taught me from earliest youth not to seek honour nor gold, without pinions not to fly upwards, and in the glowworm not to show the light to the wonderment of the world.
With you, the dearest one to me in the world, I treasure my fate; whithersoever I glance with you, in every object I discover a new charm.
As I walk down the hill, the arbour covered by the dense shade of trees calls the tired one, through the forest that bends into a vault, to rest, and mirrors itself in the crystal stream below.
Coolness reigns here for ever and refreshes the feelings and the mind, while the gentle, incessant murmur of the impetuous waterfall induces sleep amidst sweet thoughts.
There suddenly twenty wheels begin to turn, and circle hastens after circle; diamonds, opals, hyacinths, rain down from gleaming bows, while pearls beat underneath in clouds.
Thus the vision of happiness moves the passions, and with them the whole world is in motion. Fortunate he who gets away from them, for they crush all, tear all in pieces that passes under their millstone.
Let us go, before it grows dark, to rest upon the nearby island; a covered way leads to it, where the rays of the sun dare not glide through the dark foliage.
There I shall sit down under a mossy elm, leaning against a mighty trunk. Alas, not long, upon a hot day, will its leafy top carpet for me a hospitable shade!
Already it has inclined its brow upon the water that has undermined the steep bank; already it looks into the gloomy depth,—and soon, in stormy weather, it will fall with upturned roots into the water.
Thus in the world all is carried away by the stream of time amidst an eternal strife; thus ancient altars have fallen; thus kingdoms and kings have fallen, with the pillars of their thrones.
But to disperse painful thoughts, let us walk the path to the forest-covered hill where Phœbus with brilliant beam reflects from the zenith a mighty shade.
I see a modest plain with a hedge of crimson bushes: there Flora, the tender mother of the gardens, has scattered her basket full of fragrant flowers.
Farther off, in the realm of Pomona, fruit burdens the trees; beyond is the vineyard of Bacchus, where, filled with nectar juice, gleam amber clusters.
Is it possible to picture all the beauties of nature, and all its charm? To weld there the distance with the horizon, to adorn here the vales with flocks, and nap it with the golden harvest?
No, no! Abandon the vain endeavour! Already the sun has disappeared behind the mountain; already above the ethereal azure, ’twixt clouds, twinkle bright stars and glisten on the waves of the river.
I ascend the hill. The golden moon has swum out on a gentle cloud, and, glinting through the bluish cirrus, leaves behind it a gleaming path above the liquid glass.
Oh, how dear that place is to me when the satellite of the night comes, in all her beauty, to weld with the dream of a pining soul the remembrance of bright days!
ON JULIA’S DEATH
The evening darkness shrouds
The slumbering world in peace,
And from her throne of clouds
Shines Luna through the trees.
My thoughts in silence blend,
But gathered all to thee:
Thou moon! the mourner’s friend,
Oh, come and mourn with me!
Upon her grave I bow,
The green grave where she lies:
Oh, hear my sorrows now,
And consecrate my sighs!
This is her ashes’ bed,—
Here her cold relics sleep,—
Where I my tears shall shed,
While this torn heart can weep.
O Julia! Never rose
Had half the charms of thee!
My comfort, my repose,—
Oh, thou wert all to me!
But thou art gone, and I
Must bear life’s load of clay,—
And pray, and long to die,
Though dying day by day.
But I must cease to sing,
My lyre all mute appears.
Alas! Its plaintive string
Is wetted with my tears.
Oh! Misery’s song must end,—
My thoughts all fly to thee:—
Thou moon! The mourner’s friend,
Oh, come and mourn with me!
—From Sir John Bowring’s Specimens of the Russian Poets, Part II.